Hermione Granger and the Anima Damnata
by Pen Against Sword
Summary: A string of shocking, potion-related murders has the brightest witch of her age struggling to catch the culprit. She seeks the help of a familiar Potions Master. There's only one problem with that, though. He's been dead for five years. SSHG, Post-DH.
1. Chapter 1

_Author Note: Written for T. Costa for the Genesis Awards Winter Gift Exchange 2011. Set post-Deathly Hallows, a murder mystery of my own creation. This story has already been finished, and I'll be posting approximately a chapter a week._

Hermione Granger straightened her skirt, dusted off any imagined or real particles she found on the wool, and smoothed her hopeless hair over the top of her scalp. An hour at the office, and strands were already crawling out of the braid to freedom.

She hated to have to make an impression on Terry Boot, of all people, but after being job-locked at the Ministry for three-and-a-half years, desperation had started to take its toll.

She lifted one hand and knocked, lightly, professionally.

"Enter," her superior called in self-important tones.

As she closed the door behind her, Terry gave her his best I'm-Your-Boss smile. She knew that somewhere below the surface, the Ravenclaw thoroughly enjoyed lording his power over her. It was probably why she'd been stuck in the same dead-end department for two years and counting. Smart people could be incredibly petty when their intellects were bested.

He'd never get over her earning two more NEWTs than him.

"Hermione," he said, using her first name despite her repeated instructions for him to call her Ms. Granger, "I trust you're having a productive morning?"

"Yes, sir. You wanted to see me?"

He frowned, still managing to look friendly as he did so. She tried not to scowl at him. No one needed to be this happy at eight in the morning. "None of that 'sir,' nonsense, Hermione. We've known each other for years. Call me Terry, for Merlin's sake."

"You wanted to see me, Terry, _sir?_"

"Have you been reading the papers?" He pushed that morning's copy of the Daily Prophet across his desk.

"Do you mean Ernie MacMillan's election to the Wizengamot? I don't see what you—"

Terry glowered at her. "Don't be a wise-arse. Below that."

_FORMER HEAD INQUISITOR FOUND DEAD IN LONDON HOME_ screamed the headlines. A photograph of Dolores Umbridge smiled and waved obsequiously at the camera. She blinked and looked back to Terry.

"I have a case for you, Hermione, a very special case." His habit of addressing her by name in almost every sentence made her molars grind. Her parents would be horrified. "If you can handle this one, we might just have a promotion in store for you."

_Yes, the promotion that's been in store for me for every case in the last two years,_ she thought bitterly. "What do you have for me, sir?"

Terry turned, his crisp black robes rustling as he reached into a drawer of his desk and removed a thin file. As he handed it to her, she noted how light it was. There seemed to be almost nothing in it. "Ah, careful. The pictures are a bit, well – you'll see."

This didn't sound like the typical crystal ball theft or misuse of Muggle artifacts case. She opened the file, and immediately thanked her past self for running behind and skipping breakfast. Anything in her stomach would have been ejected at the sight that greeted her.

She covered her mouth with her hand and set the file down for a moment.

Terry's eyes sobered, his professional smile fading a bit at the corners. "Do you need to sit?"

"Ah, no," she said, gathering her wits somewhat. "What do we know?"

"It's all listed in the file, but to give you a brief rundown: Dolores Umbridge was found yesterday afternoon, in her home, like you see. She didn't show up for work, and she hadn't called in sick, so we sent someone 'round to her place to check things out, and well. You see."

Cautiously, she picked up the file again and studied the picture.

Dolores Jane Umbridge's corpse slumped at her table, cold toast and eggs on the plate next to her face. Past the abandoned breakfast, her death-fogged eyes stared into the camera, wide and frozen, and her mouth opened in a silent, ghastly scream. The fear and pain etched into her final moments had stretched her lips and eyes to an abnormal degree. Her prim curls looked flattened to her head with sweat, and her little pink hat had rolled across the table.

For a murder scene, it was rather tame. The intense fear and horror on Umbridge's face, however, made Hermione's stomach turn.

Thumbing past the pictures, she breezed through the scant details collected.

Terry cleared his throat, and she looked up. "Forensics has been scanning for foul play. Obviously, she didn't die of natural causes."

"Obviously," she parroted, dry. She decided to cut to the chase. "Terry, why me? Why this case?"

His eyes flicked away, then back to hers. He smiled. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I've been here for two years wasting my time on cases like Mrs. O'Leary's magical teacup stolen by the neighbors' children, and now you want me to put me on the murder of Dolores Umbridge? It doesn't add up, Terry. Why?"

He deflated, suddenly. "I wanted to give you this case because it'll be good publicity. It doesn't look good for Harry Potter's best friend to be stuck in a tiny Ministry department for as long as you have."

Her lips thinned, and she stared down her nose at him with her best Molly Weasley imitation. "I've been here this long. Why now?"

"Don't mistake me. I'd keep you here if I could," he said, with a little smirk. "But Shacklebolt told me to put you on this case, so here you are. Now get to work. We can chat once you've got it all figured out."

An eerie quiet greeted her when she Flooed into the house. Not even the kitten plates mewed at her in greeting. They tracked her movements with huge, sad eyes.

Hermione attempted, in vain, to push back the feeling of her skin prickling.

Through the living room, the shadows of the dining room beckoned. With a couple of quick spells, Hermione had lit the lamps and encased her hands in a thin golden barrier to prevent crime scene contamination.

Umbridge's aborted breakfast gathered dust on the table in front of her. To her faint disgust, she noticed that the tea service was done in pink china, inlaid with darker pink flowers, and the plates harboring the eggs and toasts were the same shade. She noted with surprise that the utensils were a regular metallic color.

The corpse had been removed from the scene and relocated to the Magical Bureau of Investigations' forensics department, but everything else had been left intact. Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Hermione pulled from her beaded bag several smaller, clear plastic bags and containers.

Sometimes Muggle inventions really were the easiest route when combined with some helpful magic, Hermione mused as she took samples of the food and placed stasis charms on them. Most wizards hadn't yet discovered the wonders of sandwich bags.

As she collected the cold tea and placed a bit of it in a sealed thermos, she noted that the cup had Umbridge's distinct shade of coral pink lipstick smeared on the rim. The only other item that had been touched at the table was a piece of toast with a small bite mark on one side.

Hermione drifted into the other areas of the house, eyes jumping from object to object in search of anything overlooked by the MBI. None of the windows, doors, or the chimney showed any sign of forced entry, and the attic, once she pulled the string and took a peek, appeared undisturbed. The layer of dust up there didn't show signs of movement for many months, and a quickrevealing charm failed to display any magical cover-ups.

Two thorough passes through the house gave Hermione nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Sighing in the realization that this was definitely not going to be an easy case, she stepped into the fire place, threw some Floo powder, and called, "Forensics Department, Ministry of Magic!"

She stumbled, and a steadying hand clapped onto her shoulder. "Whoa, there, Hermione! You all right?"

"Thank you, Hannah," she gasped, blinking to clear the spinning from her eyes. "Sometimes flooing creeps up on me."

Hannah Longbottom helped brush the soot from Hermione's clothes and smiled warmly at her. "It gets me sometimes too, no worries. How can I help you today?"

"I'm here on case work," she replied. "I, er. Well, I need to see Dolores Umbridge."

Hannah's eyes tightened a bit, her smile drooping. "Ah, yes. Right this way."

Through the heavy oak doors, Hannah led her into the examination room, heels clicking smartly as she made small talk. "You really ought to stop by and see us sometime soon, Hermione," she was saying as they rounded a corner and she held open the door, "Neville's been asking after you. He'd like you to come to Hogwarts and see some of his new experiments."

"The last time I met one of Neville's experiments," Hermione said, no small amount of humor in her tone, "I almost lost my left thumb."

Hannah blushed a bit, at that. "Erm, yes, he told me about that one. Nevertheless, you should stop by for tea soon so we can catch up. We haven't seen you in ages."

"That sounds lovely, Hannah. I'll Floo you soon, yeah?"

Whatever Hannah said in reply, Hermione wasn't listening. The sterile, stale smell of an antiseptically-charmed room smacked her in the nose as she entered and the door closed behind her. Several witches and wizards were gathered around a table, casting spells and talking low amongst themselves.

"Hermione Granger?" asked one wizard, approaching and extending a hand to shake. The golden barrier dissipated, and she clasped his hand in hers.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Sterling Conners." He was a graying wizard of seventy or so, with a small chin and thick eyebrows. "I expect you're here to see Umbridge."

"I am. What have you found so far?"

"It's the damnedest thing," he growled, launching into an explanation with zeal, "we can't seem to find anything. We've checked for curses, hexes, potions, poisons. Nothing's coming up."

"I've some samples of her food and tea from that morning," Hermione said. "Would you like to take a look?"

He waved a hand. "We've already checked them ourselves. We can't find anything there either."

"Would you mind if I take a look?"

"Go ahead."

His three companions moved aside for her as she drew her wand and cast some diagnostic spells. As time passed and she discovered nothing of import, she became more and more frustrated.

_What happened to you, Umbridge?_

Conners' voice floated to her ear from somewhere behind her shoulder. "Any ideas?"

With a start, she realized the entire forensics team was watching her work. Turning, she frowned. "No. I looked for Unforgivables – nothing. No physical damage inside or out. No indications of poisons, no organ failure, no hexes or curses. It's like someone just sucked the life right out of her."

She kneaded her temples, letting her eyes slip closed. She had no choice but to relocate to the lab.

"_Fumus_," Hermione murmured. The base solution to her Potion-Detecting-Potion vaporized and wafted into the container poised in her hand above it. She felt, at times, that the art of potions-making could be a bit silly in its exacting instructions.

Holding the phial upside down, carefully, she corked it, then settled in to wait until the solution cooled and liquidized again. It would only be a completed, functioning potion after it settled.

The investigation department's lab was blessedly empty today, so she let the silence and the weak sunlight from the windows wash over her as she pondered. Hermione was convinced Umbridge's death was a result of some sort of potion. She had run every diagnostic spell for the purpose of detecting cast magic that she knew. And she knew quite a few. The war had made sure of that.

Vial in hand, she patted the bench absently for her eyedropper. She hated sharing a workspace with the other Ministry employees – they didn't know how to properly organize a bloody workspace. Sighing, she realized the tool was several feet away on the adjacent wall, lying on a shelf.

To make matters worse, it still had the residue of some other potion clinging to it. With disgust, she cast a quick _scourgify_, sucked up some of what she had mentally dubbed "PDP," and dropped it into a petri dish containing a portion of the tea sample she had taken.

It bubbled, and with several audible pops, cycled through the different colors of the rainbow before settling on a deep, luminous violet.

Hermione frowned. _I've never seen this color before, and the recipe only lists red, green, and blue…_

Indeed, violet was not included in the color results for this potion. Had she brewed it incorrectly? She retraced her steps and came to the conclusion that she had most certainly done it all right, which meant that the PDP was doing its job and detecting a potion; it just wasn't any sort of potion that the creators of the recipe knew about.

Curious.

Hermione cleaned her work station _properly_, put away her materials, bottled the PDP-plus-tea, and pulled on a cord around her neck. A worn Galleon gleamed dully at the end. She tapped it with her palm and watched as a reply formed a few seconds later.

Hefting her beaded bag, she made her way to the stations to Apparate.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't crowded on a Tuesday afternoon, not two hours after lunch, so spotting Harry and Ron in the usual corner was easy enough.

Rosmerta greeted her at the door. "Hello, Hermione. You look tired, love. Long day?"

Hermione smiled weakly at the friendly bartender as she shouldered out of her autumn jacket. "You could say that, Rosmerta. Could I get a pint of butterbeer?"

"Don't worry, Harry and Ron already ordered one for you."

The two of them sent her little waves when she looked over, and she smiled, stronger this time. They knew her too well. She made her way over.

"'Mione!" Ron said, his mouth already full of whatever soup was on special for the day. "'e 'issed 'oo!"

"Swallow your food, please, Ronald." She rolled her eyes and attempted to sit, but he swooped in and wrapped her in a big bear hug. Harry slapped her on the back, taking quick stock of her appearance and allowing her the space.

"I said," he repeated, after he had managed to gulp, "that we missed you."

"You saw me last Tuesday," she protested as he pulled out her chair, ushering her into the seat.

"Yeah, but only for an hour. You're always so busy. We got you some butterbeer," he chattered.

"How's Lavender? Is she still at St. Mungo's?"

A shadow crossed Ron's face, then. "She's at home now, but she's still feeling a little under the weather. The Healers keep saying she needs to stay off her feet, but telling Lav what to do's like trying to pin down a greased Kneazle."

Hermione took a couple of generous swallows of her drink and wiped her upper lip. "Is the baby all right?"

Ron and Lavender had married a few years out of Hogwarts. Having three of Ron's children one right after the other had significantly matured the pretty Gryffindor, and she was now a force to be reckoned with in the same category as Molly Weasley. It had taken some time for Hermione to get over her rivalry with Lavender, but breaking up with Ron once and for all had gone a long way toward that.

"Healer Lewis said if she can just manage to rest for a month more, they can induce the labor. We can't have any more after that, though."

Harry leaned in. "Four should be enough, though, right? At least four's a good, even number."

Ron grinned. "Nothing wrong with three, Harry. Still holding out for another?"

"Yeah, but Gin's not budging."

"Can't really blame her," Hermione said, "seeing as all the kids have your big head, Harry."

"Oi!" He tried to elbow her and she redirected his arm, laughing. After a moment, he tipped his glass at her. "All right, all right, you may have a point. Don't imagine it's much fun squeezing a baby out of your—"

Ron spluttered, Harry smirked, and Hermione tried not to choke on her butterbeer.

After a moment of companionable silence, Harry said, "All right, Hermione, cough it up."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, staring into her almost-empty glass. She motioned to Rosmerta that she'd like another.

Ron scratched his patchy red beard. "Come off it. You don't order butterbeer at two in the afternoon unless something's up."

"It's just butterbeer." She regretted the touch of defensiveness in her tone.

"You're a lightweight," he pointed out.

"Fine," she sighed. "Terry's got me on a new case."

"And?" Harry asked.

"It's Umbridge," Hermione continued, "somebody's killed her, and I'm supposed to be figuring it out."

"That's great!" Ron crowed. At her quelling look, he said, "Well, I mean, I don't want anyone _dead_, per se, but it's great Terry's giving you a real case for once. Maybe now you'll get that promotion you've been wanting for years."

"True. Merlin knows I'm overqualified for this position."

"You know you could just ask me or Kingsley—"

"Harry—" Her tone spoke of an oft-repeated argument— "I can't always ride your coattails. I want something on my own merits."

"Terry's only keeping you there because he gets off on ordering you around, Hermione," Ron muttered into his now-cold stew. "Wanker."

Hermione's protests died as Harry nodded emphatically, his lips thin. She huffed. "Yes, you're right. But like you said, maybe this is my chance. I've got to do this one right."

"So what's the problem, then?"

"Who says there's a problem?"

Harry squinted behind his glasses. "Your bottom lip's all chewed up, and your thumbnails are down to nubs."

"You're eating yourself again? Oh, this must be a good one." Ron peered at her hands, and she hastily put them under the table.

"Stop that, both of you."

"Well, are you gonna tell us or not?"

She resisted the urge to let her head thunk onto the table. "I'm not supposed to share case details with anyone who's not—" She stopped, saw them rolling their eyes in tandem, and decided it wasn't worth the effort. She needed their help. "I'm not sure what's happened to her. It looks almost like a Dementor's kiss, or even Avada Kedavra, but tests show neither of those."

"Besides that, we got rid of the last Dementor in June. Unless we missed any," Harry mused.

"Thank goodness, too. Nasty things." Hermione rubbed at her arms, her spine tingling. "In any case, I have no idea what it is, I just know it's a potion, and someone put it in her tea."

She didn't bother telling them about the PDP. They'd just fall asleep in their glasses.

"Too bad Snape's not around to help you out," Ron said, chuckling at his own poor joke.

Hermione had almost forgotten the remark come three days later, when all her searching had led her practically nowhere. She had looked for any tome containing the recipe for the specific PDP she had created and found next to none. The few that did mention it had nothing to say about the color of her potion. Searching for any potion which garnered the same results as her mystery potion also yielded nothing. She'd even stopped in to Hogwarts and visited their vast library, but she had hit a dead end.

The idea to ask a Potions Master flitted idly into her head, and she dismissed it. The only one she'd heard of was somewhere in Belgium and reportedly a hidden hermit. No one had spoken to him in years, and only the Belgian Ministry seemed to have reports on whether he was living or dead.

"_Too bad Snape's not around to help you out."_

A strange, awed smile came across Hermione's face, then she dashed to her fireplace to make some calls.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione didn't often call on her status as a war hero for favors, but sometimes, it really was convenient to be the brains of Harry Potter's outfit and have pretty much everyone know her name.

Staring at the object in her hands, though, she sighed. Obtaining it had been as simple as asking the right people, but the next steps certainly won't going to be as easy, and this looked an awful lot like Divination. She was glad Lavender wasn't there to see this hypocrisy.

Hermione placed the Calling Glass in the middle of her living room and surrounded herself and the elaborate, beautiful mirror in a circle of salt. Legends of witches encircling themselves in salt for protection from evil spirits were not far from the truth. However, few people ever called to the other side nowadays because it simply wasn't a wise practice. Many, many things could go wrong, including a malevolent entity's release into the general public. Which was why the general public was not generally allowed to use a cross-the-veil Calling Glass. Only the Ministry owned them now. They were even scarce on the black market, they were so heavily policed.

The legend and the reality had one key difference; the circle didn't keep spirits _out_. It kept them in. If a demon were accidentally summoned or managed to squeeze through the gap in one world and the next, it would just kill the summoner within the circle and send itself back out of boredom.

Even if people wanted Calling Glasses, they were usually hesitant to use them.

Breathing deeply to steady herself, she intoned, "_Profusum alterius orbis me Severus Snape._." Repeating it two more times, she twirled her wand in a very precise motion, then pointed it at the Calling Glass upon the ground.

A strange wind lifted her hair, smelling a bit like the Forbidden Forest: old, wild. The air didn't touch the curtains outside her circle. It remained contained, fluttering the cinches on her light Muggle jacket.

The Calling Glass lit from within. Hermione had always enjoyed the light displays accompanied with magic. A soft, blue light washed over the room, reminding her somewhat of the reflection off water.

A muttering emanated from the mirror. "Bloody fucking idiots – a man can't even enjoy his eternal slumber – _Granger_." The last part was said with no small amount of suffering in the tone, and the shade of Severus Snape appeared atop the mirror, hooked nose, billowing robes, burning gaze and all.

Unlike ghosts, shades were actually the soul of the deceased, called directly from the afterlife through the glass. They could, to some degree, manipulate physical objects – though they could not physically affect the living in any way. Also different from ghosts, which were silver and translucent, shades retained almost all of their physical presence, including coloring. They appeared only slightly translucent. Hermione could just see the vague outline of her sofa and an end table through her professor's midsection. Interestingly, she noticed he seemed lit from within by some gentle, ethereal glow.

Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Hello, Professor. I'm sorry to disturb you like this—"

He scowled, hard. She noticed that the lines around his mouth had softened from how she remembered them. Perhaps being dead had done him some good. "Come off it, Granger. You're not sorry to disturb anyone when you have questions. So ask me the questions and let me get back to my death."

Faced now with the reality of his presence, shocked at her own success and intimidated by him just like the old days, she stumbled. "Well, you see…"

"Granger," he snapped. "Get on with it."

"Dolores Umbridge has been murdered," she blurted, shyness evaporating in the face of the usual Snape-induced irritation. The haze of hero worship and nostalgia dissolved as he acted just like Severus Snape always acted. Surly. Bitter.

His translucency didn't seem to diminish the power of his gaze or the level of disgust in his signature lip curl. "I hadn't heard. Good riddance."

She frowned. "Now, that's not very—"

He shot her what she could only describe as a look. Her shoulders slumped a bit.

"Oh, all right. I'm not really heartbroken she's gone…"

"Sometimes it's good to admit your baser feelings."

Eyebrows high, she replied, "My mother always said if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

"I see growing into your front teeth and that atrocity you call hair hasn't managed to temper your silly little girl notions." He rolled his eyes, arms crossed imperiously over his chest.

"I see dying horrifically hasn't softened your knife of a tongue," Hermione shot back, putting her hands on her hips.

They sized each other up. It seemed to Hermione that being a shade made it even easier for Snape to stare without blinking for extended periods.

"Do you need to blink?" she murmured, eyes narrowed in thought.

He momentarily looked disgusted. "For Merlin's sake, Granger, did you call me here to ask me inane questions, or are you going to brief me on this case so I can return to my eternal slumber?"

_Does this mean you're going to help me, Severus Snape?_ Deciding not to look a gift thestral in the mouth, Hermione mentally shrugged and forged onward, explaining the details of the case, as well as the reaction of the PDP to Umbridge's tea.

"Had you considered," he asked, after she had finished, "that your attempts to brew—"

"Come off it, Snape," she said, feeling bold. "We're not in the classroom anymore, and I perform much better without Neville sweating all over my cauldron."

"Ah, so your mediocrity is the fault of Longbottom, not your own inadequacies, then." His eyes, though slightly hazy, still possessed the same intensity she remembered from her schooldays.

She bristled. "I checked and double-checked the potion. I brewed it correctly, regardless of your doubts."

"Then the contaminants in the tea influenced the potion's results," he concluded, expression a bit too self-satisfied for her taste. He stared down his big nose at her.

Hermione refused to be cowed. "No. The ingredients for the potion I chose wouldn't have interacted with the ingredients of the tea. I checked."

At this, his lips curled into a mean smile. "Ah, then the constituents of the water used to brew the tea."

She sighed. She actually hadn't tested for that one, doubting that really anything would interact poorly with the potion's ingredients. The only thing that seemed to draw results from her particular PDP (the Rosemary Lund-Grub formula to be exact, designed for its resistance to nonmagical contaminants) was components known for their magical activity.

But she would have to test it. She knew he wouldn't agree to help her otherwise.

"I'm going to release the circle. In order to do that, I have to sever the connection to the Calling Glass."

He waved a negligent hand. "Yes, yes, I know how it works. The library wasn't there for just you, Granger."

She colored. She'd actually first read about Calling Glasses in _A History of the Other Side_, a tome she could only manage to find in the Ministry's private library.

His lip curled. "Where do you think the Ministry got the copy you no doubt rubbed all over with your greedy hands, woman? They seized it from my estate when I died."

Her gut wrenched. In the confusion and destruction in the wake of the Final Battle, Severus Snape's rather impressive library had been taken by the Ministry as "evidence." They'd used much of what they found inside his Spinner's End home to attempt to build a case against him.

Hers and Harry's collaborative efforts had eventually cleared Severus Snape's name in the annals of history. Now he was remembered as Dumbledore's man, through and through. She wasn't able to completely restore his estate, however, as no one was currently in possession of a catalogue of his belongings.

"Figures they managed to slip that by me," she muttered. "Slimy little…"

"Speak up," he snapped. "You're boring me."

She huffed in annoyance. "I was just saying, they managed to sneak by me on that one. I thought I had gotten everything, but there was bound to be a few things I missed that the Ministry kept."

"They managed to sneak by you?" He was leaning toward her, just a bit, belying his interest.

"I got most of your stuff back from those bloodsuckers, but I guess I missed _A History of the Other Side_. I'm sorry, professor."

He blinked, momentarily off balance. "You recovered my belongings?" Quickly, he recovered, the nasty expression returning. "To keep them for yourself, I suppose."

"Would you give it a rest? I didn't summon you to insult you, you know." Hermione was getting tired of the back and forth. "No, I didn't keep them. Your house is a museum."

He scowled. "Wonderful."

She held up her hands. "It wasn't my idea. Harry's gotten a little, well."

To her great surprise, he lifted his hands and rubbed his face, his voice muffled and almost a groan behind them. "I should have known Potter wouldn't just keep his enormous trap shut. The laughingstock of the wizarding world…"

"But, sir," she protested, "you're not a laughingstock at all."

He seemed unimpressed as he dropped is arms to his sides again. "Granger, send me back and dispel this circle."

Her heart sank. She had thought he was interested. "Very well."

As she was about to invoke the words of power to end her summons of him, her fireplace roared to life in emerald green flames, and Harry's face formed.

"Hermione!" he gasped, urgently. "There's been another murder, and it's looking the same as with Umbridge. You have to come with m—"

When Harry finally noticed that Hermione was standing within a circle of salt talking to a slightly insubstantial Severus Snape, the words came to a guttural cut-off in his throat, and he worked his jaw. Snape seemed to take great delight in this, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Good afternoon, Potter. I see you haven't managed to gather your wits since I last saw you."

Harry's burning eyes narrowed, and his fiery head turned toward Hermione. "Ron wasn't serious, you know, about getting Snape's help."

Hermione tried to hide her smirk and failed. Before she could reply, however, Snape's shade stiffened.

"Wait. Potter. Who did you say was the victim?"

"Lucius Malfoy, sir," he said quickly.

Snape swiveled. "Granger, dispel this circle and escort me to Malfoy Manor."

Containing her triumph in a massive effort of self control, Hermione performed the wand movements necessary for closing the Calling Glass and anchoring Snape's shade to her instead of the otherworld. For the duration of his presence in the living world, he would maintain physical presence by drawing upon her magical reserves. Only someone with a solid magical constitution could anchor a shade, and Hermione was pleased to note that she only felt a bit weaker having Snape attached to her.

"I've opened the Floo circuits to include the Malfoys' parlor."

"Good. Coming through, Harry."

Hermione arrived to a deathly silent house. Fresh crime scenes weren't really a raging party on the usual, but she felt as though someone had cast a silencing charm over the entire parlor. When she stepped into hallway which led to Lucius Malfoy's private office, she realized the blanket of quiet had descended over the entire house.

Draco, consoling the sobbing Narcissa (who still somehow managed to look better than everyone else, Hermione couldn't help but think), greeted them with a solemn nod as they approached. He had, in the years following their school careers and the Malfoys' fall from social grace, struck up a tenuous truce with his former rivals. They would never be friends with the former aristocrats, and Hermione still had nightmares aboutthe incident with Bellatrix, but she was not the only person tired of letting the pettiness of childhood influence her adult life.

"Draco," Hermione said in a low voice. "Mrs. Malfoy. Head Auror Potter and I are going to scan the crime scene now."

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, then stopped, his eyes landing on Hermione's slightly glowing 'shadow.'

"Professor Snape?"

"Draco," said Severus Snape's shade, and to Hermione's great surprise, his voice held a twinge of regret. "I'm sorry to hear about Lucius. We were… friends, of a sort, once."

At the sound of his voice, Narcissa whirled from her place buried in Draco's shoulder and turned her tear-stained, wondering eyes to Snape. "Severus," she gasped, "what—?"

"The details of my presence here are complicated and time-consuming, Narcissa. If you will pardon my brevity, I must investigate your husband's death quickly, in order to facilitate catching the perpetrator."

"But you're… you're dead," she said.

He held up a hand, his hair sliding to cover his face just a bit as his head turned. "I am. Miss Granger has summoned me for this very purpose. Once I have caught the culprit, I will return to the otherworld."

Hermione watched this never-before-seen civility in her professor with nothing less than wonder. She could see Harry, too, was surprised, though less than her. She wondered, sometimes, what exactly he had seen in Snape's memories, but he had never told her and she had never been quite nosy enough to pry. Some things should be left with the dead.

They entered the office, and Hermione quickly took stock of the scene. A lingering feeling of unease permeated the room, and she squinted in the low light. The only lamp lit was on Lucius' desk. He seemed to be enjoying a glass of wine and a book before bed, some dignified glasses now splayed indecently on the opened pages.

His face mirrored Umbridge's in death – the stretching, silent scream of the mouth and the too-wide eyes, almost pinned in place. Dark red wine soaked his platinum hair, looking so much like blood that Hermione had to double-take to tell the difference.

"This matches your description of Umbridge," Snape said. "Do you see any differences?"

"No," she said grimly, drawing her wand and siphoning the last bit of untouched wine from the bottom of the tipped glass. It was barely a swallow, so she would have to be extra careful in testing it. "This is the same murderer."

Hermione made quick work, dusting for fingerprints, examining everything from the book Lucius had been reading – _Quidditch Through the Ages_ – to the way his hair had fallen on the desk.

She cast a powerful stasis charm over the room for the Forensics team and exited, finding Narcissa and Draco waiting anxiously in the hall. Narcissa's mascara had run slightly, and the skin around Draco's eyes looked tight.

"Mrs. Malfoy, Draco, forgive me for asking the obvious, but have there been any signs of intruders in your home recently, any reports from the house elves of unusual activity?"

"No house elves," Draco said, his expression daring her to comment. She didn't feel any victory, under the circumstances. "The wards were tripped about a week ago, but we found no one on the grounds."

"Did you report this to the Aurors? I hadn't heard of it," Harry interjected.

The bitter twist of Narcissa's mouth answered a split-second before Draco. "The Aurors would not have helped us."

Hermione had had a feeling. Sometimes, as much as Harry could drop old grudges, his employees and associates couldn't.

Harry frowned. "I apologize. I will have it dealt with."

Snape, quiet until this point, asked, "Narcissa, had Lucius displayed any odd behavior prior to tonight?"

She shook her head. "No. I didn't notice anything was wrong until he had been in his office for too long. I went to check, to tell him to come to bed, and—" She tripped over her own tongue a bit, stopped. "You see."

Hermione wondered angrily who they could be dealing with as the murderer. She suspected that the breach in the Malfoys' detection spells a week ago had been an intruder poisoning Lucius's wine with the mystery potion. Only a week later had he opened it, taken a sip, and become a victim.

"It could have been Draco or me," Narcissa said suddenly. "That wine was for anyone who wanted it."

"So the attacker wasn't necessarily targeting Lucius in particular," Severus said. He turned to Hermione, gaze intent. "Granger, take me to your lab."

Hermione nodded, and with a small, polite tip of the head to the Malfoys, turned to leave. As she did so, Narcissa spoke again.

"Severus," and she sounded pained, "will Lucius be all right?"

Hermione looked back to observe her former Potions Master. His back was turned to Narcissa, and for just a moment, his face twisted. Then, his features smoothed. He swiveled. "Magical bindings beyond your or my control restrict me from revealing specific details to you, but I can tell you – be at ease."

Her face crumpled, and she turned into Draco's shoulder once more. He smoothed a hand over her hair and sent Snape a grateful look. Hermione locked eyes with Harry, and they briefly shared their astonishment.

Hermione had always known there was more to Severus Snape than met the eye, but apparently, death _had_ worked some wonders on his disposition.

Hermione took out the corked phial of PDP and placed it on the table next to the petri dish of Lucius's wine. She had been careful to take a very small sample, as they only had a tiny uncontaminated pool from which to draw.

"This laboratory is disgusting. Do you abuse all workspaces equally? I seem to remember you being a bit more organized in your school days."

_Was that a compliment?_ Hermione's eyes widened, and Snape, seeing her look, amended his statement quickly. "Don't get excited. I said a bit."

"Yes, well, I'm not the only one using this lab. It's provided by the Ministry, so anyone can use it."

"You ought to have your own lab," he admonished.

She shrugged. "I can't afford it right now."

Gaze shrewd, he said, "Just how long have you been working this insignificant position under the Ministry's thumb?" Seeing her open her mouth to hotly respond, he cut her off. "You're a war hero, Granger. Why haven't you used that to pull strings?"

Turning from him, face hot, she added a few drops of her PDP to Lucius's potion and waited. After a moment, she replied, "I don't use my status as a crutch."

She nearly missed the brief flash of approval over his face. It was gone faster than it had come, and she wondered if she had imagined it.

Then, as the wine-potion mixture cycled through the spectrum and settled on the same luminescent purple from her earlier tests, Hermione watched Snape scowl.

"You brewed it incorrectly, Granger."

She whirled to face him fully, hair crackling with little blue sparks as fury flooded her. "You _watched me brew it_!"

His expression soured. "Nevertheless, there has been some error. The Rosemary Lund-Grub formula should not produce this particular shade. I have never seen it in my own experiments. Something is wrong."

"No," she said firmly, pursing her lips. "I brewed it correctly. It has something to do with the potion itself."

Snape examined the recipe, flipping pages idly. After about two minutes, Hermione approached him from behind and began to read over his shoulder.

"Stop that." He sent her an irritated glance.

"Hmm?" she said. Something about the color yield in the potion was bothering her. She was only supposed to be able to get red, blue, and green…

"Stop reading over my shoulder, woman."

Her train of thought was interrupted as she noticed how close they were standing. She hadn't, in the short time since his summoning, been able to touch him at all, and she was powerfully curious as to how touching a shade would feel.

Slowly, she reached out a hand and attempted to place it upon his arm. She went straight through him, but the effect was not the same as touching a ghost. The one time she'd accidentally walked through Nearly Headless Nick, it felt as though a bucket of icy water had been dumped over her head.

Touching Snape's shade, though, felt like moving through warm silk. There was a slight resistance as her hand met what appeared to be his black sleeve, and then she passed through him with a sensation like being wrapped in a soft blanket just vacated by another person. Fascinated, she was about to do it again when she noticed Snape shudder.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted. "Did that hurt? I just wanted to see what it would feel like, and it wasn't like a ghost at all."

"Of course not, idiot," he said, though his tone didn't match his words in harshness. His dark eyes studied her hand, obviously interested. "Try that once more."

She attempted again to lay her hand upon his arm, with the same results. The feeling was not altogether unpleasant, for her. "What is it like?"

"I can feel your magic calling to my life force."

"I wonder if that's because I've bound you here. Would it happen if, say, Harry touched you?"

His mouth puckered, as if tasting something foul. "We won't be testing that question."

She shrugged. "Your loss. I just meant in the interest of science…" Feeling bold, she reached the same hand up and made a motion as if to touch the side of his face, to brush a lock of hair from his sharp cheekbone. The same effect occurred, and he shied away.

"Don't do that." She knew she had made a mistake when his expression closed, his eyes shuttering, blank look returning.

She wasn't sure what that moment had been, just then, but she wanted more of it. Severus Snape (the man, not the professor, the authority figure, or the intimidation factor), was quickly becoming her newest source of fascination. And Hermione knew she had a problem: she could be incredibly obsessive about learning when she wanted to be, and the shade of her professor wouldn't be around for her to investigate forever.

"The potion, Granger," he said in the old classroom tones. "Brew it again."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. She really didn't think they could afford the time to brew it again, but she had no choice. The violet yield simply wasn't right.

Just as she was setting up the cauldron to begin again, she froze.

Violet...

The yield colors were either blue, green, or red.

She almost tipped the wobbly cauldron-table in her haste to grab the recipe book. Snape sidestepped her as she dove in his direction, straight through the space which he had just been occupying, and seized the tome. Flipping frantically through the pages, she finally settled on the right one.

"It's a mix," she breathed.

"Speak up," he said impatiently, and now Snape was the one reading over _her_ shoulder.

"It's a mix," she repeated, louder this time. "The purple. I'm such an idiot – why didn't I think of it before – it's a mix of the red and the blue."

He grabbed the book from her hands before she could dodge, eyes widening with realization.

"It's a very dark potion."

"Tell me something I didn't already suspect," she said.

"Red indicates the presence of dark ingredients, and blue indicates something magic-effecting," he said, the furrows between his brows indicating the intensity of his thoughts. He put the book down on the table with a loud thump, his head tipping down and hair swinging forward to cover his face.

"I know this potion."

"You do? Why didn't you say so?" A kernel of fear hardened in her belly as he continued to stare at the book on the table. She'd never seen him act this way. Furious, intimidating, commanding – sure. But this stillness, no.

"There are only two people in the world with the ability and the resources to brew this potion. Actually, now that I'm dead—there's one," he said.

Hermione's interest was almost painful in its intensity. "Well? Tell me who!"

He turned to look at her, his eyes burning with a combination of fear and anger. "The potion is Anima Damnata, an extremely ancient dark potion brewed only under the most extreme circumstances."

"I've never heard of it," she said, frustrated at her own ignorance and frightened at the play of emotions in his roughened voice.

"You wouldn't have. It's only listed in one text, housed in the Durmstrang library."

"What are its effects? I mean, obviously it kills the recipient. But there must be more. Their faces…" She shivered.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. "The Anima Damnata is a soul-destroying potion. Once ingested, similar to a Dementor's kiss, the victim's soul is annihilated."

Hermine felt vaguely sick. "That's disgusting. Who would use a potion like that?"

Snape ignored her question. "Where is the nearest Apparition point?"

"Why?"

"We need to visit Durmstrang. There's only one person the attacker could have had brew the Anima Damnata."

"Are you going to tell me his name?"

"His name is Aleksander Ivanov, and he was my biggest opponent in the field of experimental potions."

As she locked the lab behind them, she had a thought. "Wait. You said the souls are entirely destroyed by the Anima Damnata. Does that mean you lied to Narcissa about Lucius in the otherworld?"

Snape's eyes were unreadable as he replied. "Yes. It would have been simple cruelty to tell the truth."


	3. Chapter 3

Getting into Durmstrang hadn't been the easiest, but as soon as Snape stepped into the gatekeeper's line of sight and demanded to see the headmaster, the path smoothed out a little. It seemed that, while Karkaroff was long gone, Snape was old friends with the new head of the school.

"You knew him?"

"To my knowledge, I was the only spy amongst Voldemort's ranks, but he had many deflectors, and he had many members who regretted joining. Headmaster Vadim was one of them."

They followed the Durmstrang groundskeeper, a skinny, worn old man with a head of white hair, to the Durmstrang castle. Compared to Hogwarts' spires and sharp angles, it looked more squat, like a fortress designed to keep intruders out. Settled against the craggy side of a mountain, the autumn wind whistled eerily in the rocks and pockets.

"We can find our way to the headmaster's office from here," Snape said as they reached the heavy wooden front doors. His tone brooked no argument, and the groundskeeper moved aside to let them into Durmstrang's Great Hall.

Hermione followed Snape along at a trot to keep up with his long strides. Sometimes, his cloak billowed and snapped at her feet, creating that strange warm sensation.

"I doubt Headmaster Vadim will appreciate the intrusion by British Ministry wizards," Hermione said as she struggled to keep up.

"No. Think, Granger. We need the element of surprise."

"I don't imagine seeing your shade will just shock the information out of Ivanov."

"He was a surprisingly superstitious individual, so while that most likely won't work on its own, some creative strategies might."

She noticed, as they navigated corridors and staircases, that they were slowly traveling into the lower levels of the castle. Snape's boots made no sound on the cold flagstones, but Hermione could almost superimpose the sound of them over the image of him walking.

The dungeons of Durmstrang were remarkably similar to Hogwarts', though the paintings and statues were, in general, a bit more violent in nature. She winced as they passed a painting of a goblin battle in which the center-most goblin had had its head torn off, and its attackers waved it around gleefully in full, glorious oil paint color. Eventually, they stopped in an alcove, in which stood an overwrought pedestal topped by a stuffed vulture.

"Lovely," she muttered.

"Mm, yes, the Durmstrang decoration sense leaves something to be desired," Snape said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He scrutinized the stuffed vulture, then with a quick, confident movement, poked it in its right eye.

The pedestal melted into the floor, replaced by a simple black door with a knocker. Snape used it to pound on the wood three times. After a few long moments, the door cracked to reveal a thin-faced man with lips like a white scar and a tangle of black hair like he'd had a mix-up with an electrical socket.

He began to say something snappish in Bulgarian, but the words braked in his throat as he saw Snape. Hermione tried not to laugh at the string of completely identical reactions to the professor's presence.

"Snape," hissed the man, whom Hermione assumed was Ivanov judging by the mixture of surprise and contempt upon his features. "You're dead. The papers told me."

"If the papers didn't tell you, your flood of awards in my absence ought to have," Snape said with a mean little smile.

Ivanov's lip curled in an eerie mirror of Snape himself. "I thought I had escaped you when Voldemort murdered you. The plague of your existence knows no boundaries, it seems."

"I wonder that your inadequacy has not completely flattened research in the field of potions, Ivanov. Tell me, has no one stepped up to oust you from your position, or are you leading the masses in mediocrity?"

Ivanov swelled, opening the door further to allow him full presence. It wasn't much of a presence, though Hermione could see how these two men had probably vied for accolades. They were, in some ways, remarkably similar in mannerisms, though the rasp of Ivanov's voice and his full crop of facial hair set him apart from the smooth-shaven Snape with his satiny tones.

Ivanov opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to notice Hermione for the first time. He blinked, and in a stunning move, his entire demeanor seemed to morph. He went from surly and snappish to charming almost instantly.

"Excuse me, Madam. I wasn't aware Sn-Severus had company with him. My name is Aleksander Ivanov, Potions Master. I hope you will forgive my lapse in manners." Pushing past and slightly through Snape, he took one of Hermione's hands and bowed over it, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

She flushed. He was not a particularly attractive man, and she didn't like the way he spoke to the professor, but the look of pure revulsion Snape sent their way made the color rush up her neck.

He spoke English very well, a definite contrast in her dealings with, say, Viktor Krum. There was definitely an accent present, but he was understandable.

"Ivanov, may I present to you my summoner, Detective Granger," Snape drawled.

She wasn't sure what had him so satisfied until the corner of Ivanov's mouth twitched, just slightly, at her title. _He's hiding something_. Her eyes met Snape's briefly, then flicked back to Ivanov, whom she gave a warm, courteous smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Ivanov. If you would allow us to step inside for a moment, I'm here on business for the Ministry of Magic. Professor Snape and I would like to ask you a few questions."

"Very well," he said, in slightly less friendly tones. "Step into my office."

Ivanov gestured for them to proceed him. She didn't like turning her back on a stranger, especially one which she suspected of brewing and distributing dangerous dark potions, but when she looked at Snape again, he sent her a tiny nod.

They door opened onto a sumptuous sitting room. Large, squashy couches surrounded a crackling fireplace, and the smell of fresh pine permeated the air. Several branch-clippings rested on the mantle, the source of the scent, and fabulous tapestries of famous historical magical scenes lined the walls.

Hermione had turned Krum down for a position as a librarian at Durmstrang right after graduating Hogwarts, in favor of seeking a position with some leeway for advancement. She regretted that just a bit now, seeing Ivanov's accomodations. They obviously knew how to treat their employees at Durmstrang.

Remembering the decor, though, she shrugged off the nostalgia. She didn't know if she'd be able to eat every day with violent revolution replaying on the walls around her.

"Please, have a seat." Ivanov gestured to the couches, where a lush carpet covered the floor to help rebuff the cold seeping into the stones.

"I'm comfortable standing." Snape crossed his arms over his chest, and Hermione suddenly felt very awkward. She made no move to sit, having no intention of being the odd one out as these two men stared each other down. The tension in the room was almost a physical presence weighing on them.

"Let's get down to business," Snape finally purred, warning signals in his voice that Hermione remembered from her schooldays. Whenever he got that sort of smoothness to his words, it meant he was on the verge of taking a massive amount of House points or handing out a particularly nasty cauldron-scrubbing detention. "Detective Granger, show Master Ivanov the samples."

Surprised, she extracted them from the beaded bag at her side and held them up in the low light. The faint glow of the violet mixture reflected in Ivanov's pupils, giving them a strange cast. "Would you happen to know what this reaction in the Rosemary Lund-Grub potion-detecting potion means for a sample, Master Ivanov?"

He sneered. "The Rosemary Lund-Grub potion-detecting potion results in only red, blue, or green indicators."

"We thought the same thing. However, when the red and the blue combine, they create the shade of violet you see here."

"And do you know what that means, Ivanov?" Snape murmured, voice barely audible over the snap and pop of the fire. "It means someone's been brewing an extremely dark potion."

Ivanov paled, abandoning any social constraints as he saw he was cornered. "What are you implying, Snape?"

Hermione broke in, slipping the phial back into her bag as she nonchalantly said, "The samples reacting with the Rosemary Lund-Grub formula were collected from two very similar crime scenes, Master Ivanov." Her voice was cool, almost uncaring. "Dolores Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy suffered death as the result of two different potion-spiked beverages, occuring approximately a week apart from each other."

Snape advanced on the other man, taking a few significant steps forward and closing the gap between them. "Other than myself – which is impossible as you yourself made my deceased status quite clear – no one can brew the potion responsible except for, well, you, Ivanov. As much as it pains me to admit it."

"I have not – "

"Why did you brew the Anima Damnata, Ivanov?" Snape continued, as if he hadn't heard. "I am under no illusions that you are anything more than a puking, mewling brewer of poisons, so who purchased it from you?"

Ivanov was backing away now, toward another door in the opposite wall. She whipped her wand from her sleeve and managed a shield charm just as he sent a nasty-looking curse her way. It rebounded and hit the rug, leaving a charred hole behind.

Hermione smacked him with a disarming spell, and his wand skittered into a far corner. Expression wild and desperate, he made a move for the door behind him, but she was once again too fast. A locking spell cut off his means of escape.

She was not, however, prepared when he sprinted at her and lunged. Snape shouted some sort of warning, but too late – he crashed into her, not a very big man under all those furs, but heavy enough to tip her off balance and knock her into one of the couches. They ended up on the floor with him struggling for her wand. She wrapped her arms around his back, pointed her wand between his shoulder blades, and a nonverbal _Incarcerous_ took care of the rest.

Hermione extricated herself from the mashup of their bodies and dusted off her clothes, checking for damages. A couple of bruises from hitting the floor so hard but nothing major. She would live. Ivanov, seeming to recognize he was defeated, lay limply on the floor, muttering under his breath.

"Are your methods always tragically moronic, Granger?" Snape asked, moving to stand beside her.

"You can't say they're not effective," she protested. "I think on my feet."

"You could've killed him, and then where would we be?"

"_We_ wouldn't be anywhere, _Professor_. I'm the one who has to fill out the paperwork. Besides, he tackled me."

"Stop calling me that." He strode over to Ivanov and knelt, staring into the man's face. "I have not been your professor for a long time."

"Fine. _Severus_, then." She had decided that calling him just plain Snape was too rude, and saying Mr. Snape was simply odd. His first name felt like too much to say, and she almost stumbled over the syllables, but it was the only option that felt the least wrong. It had a certain old-fashioned wizard charm to it, in her opinion.

"As fascinating as all this is," Ivanov said, exasperated, "my superiors _will_ hear about this."

Snape scoffed. "And they'll do what, exactly, when we tell them you've been brewing the Anima Damnata? "

"You can prove nothing," Ivanov snarled.

Hermione watched as Snape stared deeply into Ivanov's eyes, unable to touch him but obviously concentrating. After a few moments of silence, as Ivanov looked merely confused and Snape became increasingly more frustrated – indicated by the muscle twitching in his jaw – Hermione said, "Are you attempting Legilimency?"

Snape rose in a fluid motion, his robes swirling elegantly around his ankles. "It seems I cannot perform Legilimency anymore. I either do not have access to magic, as a shade, or it has something to do with the difference between the essences of the living and the dead."

A bolt of inspiration struck her. "Access to magic…do you think _I_ might be able to, if you showed me how?"

"Don't be stupid, woman. Legilimency is a craft which takes years to master and an effort of the mind far beyond that of which you are capable. It's not a matter of step-by-step instructions." He looked vaguely insulted.

She rolled her eyes. "Well fine then, if you're not even patient enough to give it a try, I'll just – "

"Come here," he interjected, crooking a finger at her. His haughty expression, at once, sent a stab of attraction and annoyance through her. She clamped down on her feelings, chastising herself for having, of all things, some kind of _attraction_ for her surly former potions professor.

_What are you doing, Hermione? Get your head on straight. Sure, he's smart and you've always had a thing for the underdog, but this isn't permanent._

"I thought you said – "

"Do you want to try this or not, Granger? Now close your mouth, and let me just..."

Without warning, he walked behind her and plunged a hand into her back. The warm sensation from touching him before was the same, but more intense, almost a burning. She gasped, surprised, and felt a kind of tug inside her – not physically, but on almost an ethereal level, something more nebulous connected to her.

Very close to her ear, his voice slid over her. "Look into his eyes, and invoke the spell. Quickly! I don't know how long I can hold this."

Ivanov, luckily, was staring up at them, perplexed. When she met his eyes, they widened and he tried to look away, but Hermione said "_Legilimens_" before he could complete the action.

She slid into the depths of his eyes like submerging herself in a dark lake, and then she was in his mind. She could feel him trying to push back, a weak fluttering at the edge of what she recognized as some form of her consciousness. She felt like she had some sort of form, but she couldn't see anything but what was around her. She had no real physical body.

If she did have a body, she would've jumped when Snape spoke, his voice coming from seemingly everywhere at once. _Concentrate, Granger. It won't be long before he figures out how to kick us out or lock it down. Find the right memory... I can only give you the necessary kick. The rest is you._

She had no bottom lip to chew, though she desperately wished she did. Concentrating when your mind wasn't encased in the parameters of a physical body was remarkably difficult. While she felt separate from Ivanov's mind, she didn't feel all put together either, like maybe her molecules were a bit drifty.

_Granger!_

Mentally wincing, she tried to focus. She singsonged to herself as she searched, _Memory... all alone in the moonlight..._

Cats, _really, Granger?_ Snape scoffed. Feeling her surprise at his recognition of the lyrics, he said, _I am more cultured than you give me credit for. And you have terrible taste._

So Severus Snape knew a bit about Muggle theatre. Hermione supposed one must learn something new each day.

There were some fascinating images of Ivanov's childhood – apparently he had owned a cat named Boris which had been eaten by an acromantula – and some assorted images of his career at Durmstrang. She barely managed to bypass the memories of him and Snape competing at potions seminars, as Snape was plain fascinating lecturing spiritedly behind a podium.

When she pushed beyond those, however, she started catching glimpses of Ivanov brewing various potions.

_You're on the right track. Follow the thread._

She visualized an actual thread in a ghostly version of her hands and pulled, following as fixedly as she could so as not to lose it. Ivanov had begun to struggle, attempting to throw her from his mind and simultaneously lock down his thoughts, but the double effort was tripping him up.

_There! That one!_

She stopped. Ivanov stood at a gloomy workstation, the wind whistling outside the window. There was an almost physical push as he tried to eject her, and she knew she had found the right piece of evidence. On the table beside him was a nasty-looking grimoire, and was that… human skin on the cover?

She wished she could shudder.

The page from which he read, occasionally skimming a bony finger down the lines, contained the recipe to the Anima Damnata.

_We're not finished_, Hermione thought, hoping Snape could hear her. _We have to find the buyer if we're going to put a stop to all of this._

_Why are you wasting time talking to me, then? Go, before we lose it._

It didn't take her long. Ivanov was pushing hard now. She settled on a memory of him receiving a letter by owl and adjusted her viewpoint to be peering over his shoulder.

_Damn. The letter doesn't reveal an identity,_ she thought, a litany of curses brewing in her mind.

_Language, Granger,_ Snape said just as Ivanov gave the firmest shove yet.

As she was finally ejected from his mind, Hermione acted on instinct, grabbing at whatever she could hold onto with her own consciousness, hooking her talons to gain purchase. The maneuver failed to keep her within his head, but as she spiraled outward and into her own thoughts again, she noticed that a couple of silvery threads were hanging from her wand, glistening in the firelight.

Recognizing them as extracted thoughts, Hermione whirled to face Snape and said, "Quick. Give me a phial." The threads safely stored, she said, "These will come in handy for a trial, assuming they're the right memories."

He rummaged in her bag and handed her one, and she contained the memories and corked the bottle, stashing it. When she turned her attention to Ivanov again, he was out cold on the floor.

"Guess it was a little too much for him," she said. "Say…what was that, anyway? I didn't think shades could perform magic like that."

"It wasn't magic," he said. As he talked, she noticed they were standing very close to each other, and she was still trying to get her breath back from the adrenaline rush of rushing through someone else's memories. Her chest heaved, and she watched with fascination the way his lips formed the words as he spoke.

With some work, her parents could probably have fixed those teeth up. Too bad he died. Not that it ever would have happened, anyway.

He was explaining. She tried to snap out of her obsessive fascination with his face with moderate success. "I pulled on my connection to you, which allowed me to impart you with the knowledge necessary to perform Legilimency."

"So, could I do that again?"

He pursed his lips, black eyes narrow with thought. "I doubt you could do it right off, but you might find it easier to perform the craft now that you've done it once already."

"Fascinating," she murmured, her eyes drinking him in. Her skin tingled with the leftover adrenal-dump into her system, and she wanted, suddenly, to touch his face again.

As if sensing her thoughts, he moved away and stared at her. After a few long moments, he gestured to the man on the floor. "It'd be best if you wiped his memories."

"But that's…unethical!" she cried. "I can't—"

"As is tackling a man with no evidence of his guilt, in his own quarters, then forcibly invading his mind," Snape said dryly. "Now, I suggest you cast a very precise memory modification charm. I trust you know how?"

That he trusted her to know anything, really, was astonishing. Knowing he was right and hoping she would be able to do this correctly, she focused hard, casting _Obvliviate_. After that, she removed the bindings from him and propped him in a chair with a quick levitation charm.

"_Ennervate_."

Ivanov's eyelids fluttered, lifting. He muttered something unintelligible in Bulgarian.

"Master Ivanov," Hermione said in a gentle voice. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I remember…relaxing on my sofa..." he said dreamily. She knew from work experience that he was still suffering from the after-charm delirium. Now would be the easiest time to influence him.

"Good. Now, you're going to continue relaxing on your sofa. You never saw me or my companion, all right? You spent a nice evening alone in your quarters, by the fireplace."

"I spent a nice evening alone," he parroted blankly, and Hermione nodded with satisfaction.

"Come. We must leave before we encounter anyone else," Snape said, leading the way to the exit.

Instead of returning to the Ministry, Hermione returned them to her flat.

"What are we doing here again?" he asked, eyeing the Calling Glass on the tiny kitchen table with no small amount of distaste. She wondered, suddenly, if he didn't want to go back. He'd said he wished to return to his afterlife as soon as the case was solved, but he hadn't mentioned it since. "We have research to be doing. If you don't want to figure this out, I'll just-"

"Look, Severus," she said, and the use of his given name seemed to stop him in his tracks, once again. "I want to solve this case as much as you, maybe more, but it's time for me to sleep. You know, sleep? That thing we mortals require to function?"

"I didn't do much of it when I was alive," he admitted, a rueful smile gracing his features.

"No one could sneak around properly when you were up and about. Which was all the time," she added as an afterthought. "Did you have some insomnia issues, perhaps?"

He sent her a dark look as she went into her bedroom, following behind her like the slightly-glowing shadow he had become for the day.

"Your flat is abysmally small, Granger. How do you breathe in here? Why don't you expand it?"

"Same reason I don't have a lab," she said. "I told you already, I can't afford it."

"And why is that?" he snapped. "Why haven't you moved onto other opportunities? A woman of your talents should not be roped into a no-advancement job as a Ministry lackey, especially not the so-called brightest witch of her age."

She stared at him, a little too long it seemed, because he snapped defensively, "I didn't make up the nickname, woman, but if that's the case, then my question still stands."

She shook her head and continued to the wardrobe, laying out some soft pajama pants and a thin shirt. She was suddenly very tired, down to her bones, and she knew as soon as she hit the mattress, she would be asleep.

Speaking of which: "What are you going to do while I'm asleep?"

"I suppose I shall figure out something," he said. "There was a bookshelf in your sitting room."

"Feel free to peruse at your leisure. You won't be bored, will you?"

"I assure you, Detective Granger, if I weren't already dead, the absence of your scintillating presence would surely destroy me."

She gaped. A joke. He'd made a joke. Recovering, she laughed, and she couldn't tell if that was a flash of genuine humor in his eyes or just the ethereal glow of his shade-essence.

"Good night, Severus," she said, and as he exited in a glowing flourish, she thought she heard him murmur, "Good night, Hermione," but she couldn't be entirely certain.


	4. Chapter 4

When Hermione woke the next morning, she looked frantically around for Severus, only to find him sitting on her sofa with a book upon his lap, idly turning the pages. She was about to ask him if her reading collection had been sufficient to keep him entertained, when he spoke up.

"You look like hell."

A self-conscious hand fluttered up to her hair, then down to her robe, which she pulled tighter around herself. She was aware, then, that she was not wearing a bra, as was her habit in sleep. How strange, to be bra-less in front of her former professor.

"Gee, thanks, Snape," she snapped.

"You're less of a morning person than you appear, and that's a feat," he said. She was too busy inhaling, though, to take notice of his words, and it was then that she noticed he'd made coffee.

"Oh, you... you made coffee!" she said, stunned.

He tipped his head just slightly, black hair swinging forward. "Since I obviously cannot enjoy it, you might as well."

"Oh, coffee," she sighed, pouring herself a cup of black and sticking her nose over the rim. He couldn't have known that she depended on the stuff to get going in the morning, but it was fortunate that he'd been, well, kind enough to make it. Funny, Snape being kind. "Thank you."

"Do stop taking your sweet time, Granger," he said, back to his old tone. He stood. "Finish that cup, get dressed. We've got work to do."

"What are we..."

"You are the detective here, are you not? However poor your abilities seem at the moment, you need to figure out our next move."

She had conceded his point, but it turned out she wouldn't get the chance to ponder their options. She managed to finish her coffee, brush her teeth, tame her hair, and change into decent work-robes, and she was just searching for the last place she had left her shoes when the fireplace roared to life.

This time, instead of sticking his head through, Harry just stepped through on his own. "Hermione, there's been another attack. You must come with me. Professor, you too."

Her heart sank. Another attack. After all that work yesterday, and another attack. They weren't working quickly enough. She felt very much like this was all her fault. If she hadn't gone to sleep, maybe...

"Granger," Snape said, close to her ear. "Pull yourself together. We must visit the crime scene."

He was right. She gathered her wits and nodded to Harry. "Take us."

He shouted an unfamiliar address, and she followed him shortly. She discovered, upon arriving at their destination, that it was the home of Pansy Parkinson. She knew because the tidy little sitting room into which they had Flooed contained her corpse.

The body of one of Hermione's former school nemeses was just as shocking as the first two. She had fallen out of an armchair and across the carpet, and the cup of tea she had been drinking had dumped across the floor, saucer and all. She winced, knowing she would have to siphon it from the rug.

Pansy's sightless eyes stared into the fibers of the rug beneath her face.

From the other room, a voice sounded, "Potter, is that you again? Have you brought reinforcements?"

To Hermione's great surprise, Millicent Bulstrode entered from an open doorway which led down a dim hallway. The bulky woman stopped at the sight of her, and Hermione noticed her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

"Hermione, Miss Bulstrode was here at the time of death," Harry explained.

At this, Hermione took stock of the photographs on the wall, a good few of which were Pansy and Millicent together. One had a smiling Pansy delivering a small kiss to Millicent's cheek every few minutes as the camera flashed. She blinked.

Well, she'd sometimes suspected about Millicent, but it seemed getting away from Draco had had spurred some changes for Pansy as well.

"Miss Bulstrode," Hermione said. "I'm sorry we have to meet again under such unfortunate circumstances."

Millicent's attention, however, was on Severus, who was just excellent at stealing the spotlight. Unlike the people before her, though, she seemed unfazed, taking the incident in stride. "Professor Snape," she said, tipping her head politely. "How are you here?"

"The story is an interesting one, Miss Bulstrode. Suffice it to say, Detective Granger called for my assistance, and here I am. Now, she would like to ask you a few questions."

Hermione had taken the opportunity of Snape speaking to draw the tea from the carpet. She was taking a risk in it being contaminted by something in the rug, like leftover Floo residue from the nearby fireplace, for example, but she had no other choice. She needed to determine if Pansy's tea had been spiked with the Anima Damnata, and if the PDP turned purple, it was a safe bet.

"Harry said you were present at the time of death. Can you tell me exactly what occurred?"

Millicent sat heavily in one of the chairs, gesturing for them to do the same. Harry, Hermione, and Snape respectfully declined. Hermione felt a stab of pity for Millicent as she grabbed a flask from inside her robes and took a brisk swig from it.

Braced by the alcohol, she began her story. "Pansy and I had just sat down for breakfast tea. I hadn't taken a drink. She did, as you can see. When she did, she just sort of… screamed, fell over, and there you have it." She waved a demonstrative hand at the corpse of her partner lying on the rug.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Have you noticed any strange behavior in your partner lately? Have there been any disturbances in the wards around your home?"

Millicent shook her head. "No, to all of those. I only know what I told you." She cleared her throat and turned bright eyes to Severus. "Professor," she rasped, "you have to find out who did this because I'm going to fucking kill the bastard."

"I assure you, Miss Bulstrode, that Detective Granger and I are making every effort to ensure the capture and trial of Miss Parkinson's murderer."

Hermione's eyes flashed with determination as she looked upon another home destroyed. "I promise you, Millicent, we're going to find who did this, and we're going to bring the individual to justice."

The former Slytherin didn't say thank you, but the sentiment was there as she nodded, tight-lipped. Hermione, Severus, and Harry picked over the crime scene for a while longer, and they were just about to give up finding anything for a lost cause when Harry made a noise.

"Speak up, Potter," Severus said, urgency creeping into his tone. Hermione wondered if any of her tension was bleeding over into him. She'd never seen him look this concerned.

"Hermione, could you get a bottle? I think there's something here," he said, from where he was stationed in the kitchen. She followed Snape to find Harry in the doorway to a small pantry.

She accio'd a bottle from her the depths of her bag, complete with cork, and passed it off to Harry. After gloving his hands in the barrier spell, he extracted one corkscrew hair from the middle shelf, a few inches from the tea supplies. As an afterthought, Hermione moved in beside him and took a sample of Pansy and Millicent's tea leaves, though she was almost certain she'd find them doused with Anima Damnata.

"Miss Bulstrode," Snape said, back in the kitchen. Hermione joined him as he asked, "Has there been anyone you know with curly hair in the kitchen?" Pansy had sported a short, blond bob, and Millicent's hair was long and dark, straight as a board.

Millicent shook her head. "No. I don't know anyone with hair like that."

Harry hummed thoughtfully and handed the phial to Hermione. "I think we're done here, for now. I'll take care of the coroner."

Arms crossed over her chest, Millicent nodded. "Let me know when you figure something out."

"We will, as soon as we know anything," Hermmione reassured her, heading to the fireplace.

As she threw her Floo power and bid Harry goodbye, her mind churned. Something niggled at the back of her thoughts. She couldn't quite piece together how the three killings were related - Dolores Umbridge, Lucius Malfoy, and now Pansy Parkinson. They seemed completely unrelated, beyond the tenuous connection of them being purebloods and having fallen somewhat out of wizarding society's good graces. What would anyone want with killing them? What motive could there be?

For Umbridge and Malfoy Senior separately, she could see some possible reasons. Umbridge hadn't exactly been a crusader for friendship and good feelings, and her early release from Azkaban after the war had stirred up some dissent in the media and the Ministry. Nevertheless, her connections and "good behavior" had gained her some amount of freedom. Lucius Malfoy wasn't hard to figure out: crusader for Pureblood supremacy, nasty person in general…but Pansy Parkinson? Sure, she'd been a Slytherin, but beyond the pettiness of schoolchild House rivalries, Hermione just didn't know. Pansy had been living her life out in solitude with her partner, not bothering anyone.

She let out an explosive, frustrated sigh as she whirled out of her own fireplace and into her living room.

"We have to figure out who this belongs to," she said to Snape, holding the phial with the hair up to the light. Somehow, it looked... familiar. But who did she know with hair like this?

"I know a potion you can use, but it's going to take three nights to brew," Snape said, sounding as frustrated as she felt.

"That's too long," she growled, falling backward onto her sofa and setting the bottle down onto her coffee table with a _clink_. "The killer could strike again in that time."

Snape glided into the chair opposite her and massaged his temples. She wondered if that were out of habit or if shades could actually get stress headaches. "We have no other options."

After a long moment, in which Hermione envisioned the next few nights attending to a finicky identitification postion, she said, "Look... I'm sorry for dragging you into all of this."

He had been scanning her sizeable bookshelf, and when she spoke, slanted his gaze toward her out of the corners of his eyes. "No, you're not."

"I am, though," she said. "You've been a big help, believe me, but I shouldn't have called you from the otherworld. It wasn't my place."

"It wasn't," he conceded. "But here I am."

"Sometimes I jump in where I don't belong before I can think about it. Bad habit of mine."

"Yes, that seems to be one quality you've kept beyond your school days," he said. The implication being, she thought, that she had left behind some other qualities. _How much do you think I've changed, Professor?_ He surprised her by speaking again, steepling his elegant fingers underneath his nose. "Do not trouble yourself. My eternal 'rest' has not been the most stimulating experience."

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

He flicked the hair from his eyes, studying her reaction to his next statement. "As you might imagine, dying does not mean, automatically, that you escape all the people which you loathed in life."

"Who—" At his meaningful glower, she stopped. "Ah, well. Now that I think about it, I can see what you mean."

"It is pleasant, most of the time, but one must have the faculties required to entertain oneself."

She wondered what the otherworld had to offer. Throughout her life, she had been, in turns, afraid of death and curious about it. Harry had told her and Ron, just once, of his experiences with Dumbledore in the ghostly version of King's Cross, but that was just a taste to kickstart her appetite.

"What do you do there?" she finally blurted, curiousity overtaking her.

He rolled his eyes. "I did not lie to Narcissa when I said I'm unable to disclose the details. Use that supposedly formidable mind of yours, Granger."

She ignored him. "It must be tiresome, to have to come back to this drudgery."

He shrugged, a rather un-Snape-like move. "We are reluctant to relinquish life for a reason, Hermione." Her name flowed from his mouth smoothly, and though she was startled, he didn't miss a beat. "There will always be an appeal to the time-limits, to the tightrope balance of life and death. In the otherworld, there are no pressures. In some ways, the dead are always longing to return to what they have lost."

She mulled over his words. For a man like Severus Snape, she supposed eternal rest wasn't necessarily all it was cracked up to be. At least with couples like Lily and James, for instance, they would have each other. Severus hadn't even liked his family, and his only true friend in life had been Albus Dumbledore. Maybe it did get boring once in a while.

"Well, I guess I'm not so sorry about bringing you here, then."

Hermione felt like frying her words and eating them for supper two hours later, with Severus looming over her shoulder in the lab like the teacher he had been in life. His constant remonstrations and snappish instructions rankled. She was on the brink of biting his head off.

"You've chopped the Jarvey tongues all wrong, Granger. Did you learn _nothing_ in my classes, or were you too busy thinking of your future marriage to Longbottom to absorb any of my instructions?"

She pivoted and got very close to his face, craning her neck to glare into his squinting eyes. "Back up a few steps, or I'll send you back this instant, Severus Snape. You're getting on my last nerve."

"Your incompetence is the source of your frustration, not me. If you would simply follow the instructions the way – "

"Oh, am I not doing a good enough job for you?" she hissed. "Well, that's just too bad, isn't it. You can't brew the potion if you don't have access to magic, so I'm all you have. Get over it."

"If you wanted to solve this case, you would happily take the instructions of your betters instead of spitting disrespect at every turn," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture she now recognized as his fighting stance. With his robes wrapped securely around himself, he became an impenetrable, immovable black wall.

"Disrespect," she snarled, astonished at his change in demeanor. The last two hours of sweating over a hot cauldron and chopping smelly, sticky ingredients had worked her up into a fine, frothing anger. She tipped over the edge and lost her cool. "Get out. Get out of my lab and leave me to work in peace!"

His eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth a jagged slash. "Fine. In the morning, you will return me to the otherworld. If you cannot appreciate my assistance, I am finished here."

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could stop him, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. She knew, objectively, that he could not go far, anchored as he was to her, but still, she instantly regretted what she had said. The stress of three murders was weighing heavily on both of them, especially with the connection they shared. Rubbing each other the wrong way was bound to happen, but she should have known it would be up to her to mediate the situation - he had always had a temper.

_Stupid, Hermione,_ she chastised herself. _You know better. You know he just wants you to respond._

There was nothing to be done about it, though. He would have to have his sulk before he'd come back. She turned back to the complicated identification potion, determined to get through stage one before two in the morning. If she were careful, she might be able to get some rest tonight.

The clock ticked on.

Snape did not show his face that night, or the following morning. Several times, she could have sworn she sensed someone watching her, only to find the room empty. It was possible, she mused, that he could turn himself invisible much as a ghost could. Shades existed on planes and frequencies that humans did not and could not process.

The identification potion was at a crucial simmering stage, in which it would have to sit upon a low flame under the cauldron for the next eight hours and twenty-three minutes. Until then, she would have to occupy herself.

Sitting around thinking about the case did nothing but frustrate her, as her only lead was the corkscrew hair in Millicent's home. Nothing to be done but head into work for the first time in days and report to Terry. He'd want to be updated on the proceedings, anyway.

When she arrived at the Ministry, however, Hannah Longbottom intercepted her at the MBI reception desk. "Hermione!" she cried, delighted. "I haven't seen you in days! How are you doing?" Throwing a couple of quick glances around to be certain the waiting room was empty, she whispered, "How's the case going? I heard about Pansy Parkinson. Absolutely awful, especially for Millicent."

Slightly startled at Hannah's insider knowledge, Hermione cursed the gossip mill in the Ministry. "Oh, erm, hello, Hannah. I'm all right – a little tired from working, but otherwise fine.

I've made a little headway on the case," Hermione said, fudging a bit. "I think I'm a little closer to figuring it all out. If you'll excuse me, I'm headed in to have a word with Boss Boot," she added, using the office nickname for Terry.

Hannah dimpled at her. "Okay, good luck with that. Say, were you ever going to stop in for tea with Neville and I? Are you free this afternoon – it'd be the perfect time, as we're both free!"

There still was no sign of Snape, even though Hermione had a feeling he was listening to the proceedings. He would be disgusted at having tea with Neville and Hannah, however, Hermione knew there would be no getting rid of the Longbottoms unless she agreed. She reluctantly nodded. "I think I can find the time. I'm working on a potion as the next step in the case, and it's going to be in the cauldron for a few hours yet."

"Fantastic!" Hannah said, clapping her hands together. "Just Floo right in, we'll be all set up for you at tea-time."

"Thanks, Hannah. I'll see you in a bit."

She headed into Terry's office, determined to get this all over with as quickly as possible so she could get back to work.

Two hours later, Hermione stepped into Hannah and Neville's cozy sitting room in the Hogwarts' Herbology Professor quarters and dusted the soot from her clothes. It took her a moment to dispel the dizziness from Flooing, and as she did, Hannah entered.

"Oh, Hermione! I'm so glad you made it."

_I did say I was coming, didn't I?_ She tried not to roll her eyes at Hufflepuff niceties. Neville's wife was a sweet woman, but sometimes she could be incredibly inane.

"Come into the nook, we've got it all set up. I hope you don't mind we have an extra guest; he just stopped in to say hello to Neville."

Hermione allowed herself to be ushered into the nook off the side of Neville's sitting room, where there was a small table set with tea supplies and plenty of windows to let in the sun. Neville jumped up to envelop her in a big bear hug, flashing her a charming smile (he'd really grown into himself handsomely since their school days) and gesturing for her to sit.

"Hermione! Glad you could finally drop by. You remember Ernie Macmillan, right?"

Hermione took notice of the other man in the room, now that Neville wasn't encompassing her line of sight. When her eyes landed on Ernie, she had to work very hard to keep the shock from showing on her face.

Ernie Macmillan had a head full of blonde, corkscrew curls.

He rose and shook her hand with his old jovial smile, the kind that made you feel you were in on all the jokes and welcome the party. "Hermione Granger!" he exclaimed. "So good to see you again. How's work in the MBI lately?"

"Wonderful," she said, hoping the racing of her thoughts didn't didn't make an appearance in her voice. She prayed to all the gods and Merlin for some Slytherin subtlety in this moment. "It's very stimulating work."

"I'm surprised you haven't run into each other," Neville was saying, his voice coming to her as if from very far away. "Ernie here's been elected to the Wizengamot. Keeper of peace and justice and all that, right, Ern?"

_Calm down, Hermione,_ she thought, attempting to soothe herself. _Ernie's not the only person with hair like that. It doesn't mean anything._

"Oh, it's not all that great, Neville," Ernie said, waving a hand and grinning.

"But it is! We owe you all our thanks," Hannah said, serving up the tea and sandwiches. "Hermione, do you take sugar?"

"Ah, yes, one lump, please."

She almost jumped out of her skin when a feeling like a warm water cascaded down her spine. Severus. He was here, and he was letting her know. So he suspected too. With a jolt, she felt a tugging at her mind, then his voice ricocheted in her head.

_Tread carefully, Hermione._

"Hermione's working behind the scenes too," Hannah said, placing a plate with tiny, perfectly-cut sandwiches in front of Ernie. "Is cucumber all right, Neville?"

"Please," he said, voice muffled behind his cup.

"In fact, she's working on a very important case right now," Hannah continued, heedless of Hermione's quelling look.

"Oh, that's really not good table-talk."

"No, do tell," Ernie said, leaning forward in interest. "I imagine the Magical Bureau of Investigations must be an exciting department to work in."

"Depends on the case," she replied, trying to think of a way to move the conversation away from her current conundrum. "Sometimes it's quite boring, really."

Severus's presence fluttered in her mind again. _No. Tease it out. I want to see how he responds._

"Hannah told me about what happened to Pansy Parkinson," Neville said, running over her attempts to change the subject. "Shame, that."

Ernie frowned. "What happened to Pansy Parkinson?"

"Ah, well," Neville hedged, suddenly very interested in his sandwiches, "someone murdered her."

Ernie's eyes widened. "Really? That's terrible."

Hannah nodded, finished with serving, and sat next to Neville. Hermione was not comfortable being on the other side of the table with Ernie. "Especially with her leaving behind Millicent."

Neville's eyebrows show up. "Millicent? Do you mean the husky girl in Slytherin? What was her name again…Bull-something?"

"Bulstrode," Hermione supplied quietly. "They were together."

For his part, Ernie was either putting up a very good show, or he was innocent. His curls trembled a little as he shook his head. "Funny what direction people go when they leave school, eh?"

Hermione took a few sips of her tea and let Hannah continue talking. She was practically doing Hermione's job _for_ her. "They think the same person who got Pansy got Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge. Imagine that – a serial killer in the wizarding world. You don't hear about that sort of thing very often."

Neville looked thoughtful. "Those are some random choices. Are you sure the deaths are related?"

Hermione would really have to have a talk with her department about case confidentiality in the future. Hannah shouldn't know as much as she did. Then again, word traveled fast in the wizarding world—they were all bored and loved to gossip. "We're fairly certain," Hermione said. "Though we're not sure what the motive could be, if it is the same person."

Ernie swallowed a bite of sandwich. "Not to be crude, but seems like they had it coming, just a bit."

_There. We have him._ Hermione almost jumped, having forgotten about Severus.

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione said.

"Well, Ern's got a strong sense of justice." Neville came to his friend's defense, though he shot Ernie a reproachful look. Ernie did not have the grace to look abashed. "Everyone knows Umbridge and Malfoy didn't get enough time, all 'cause they have money."

"And Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione asked. She was starting to feel some very real indignation at this blase attitude. "What did she do to deserve her fate? Isn't it for the courts to decide who is guilty and who is not?"

"The system's flawed," Ernie protested. "It's no wonder someone's taking justice into their own hands."

She stared at him, hard, then repeated herself. "And Pansy? What did she do wrong?"

"Oh, you know, Hermione," Hannah said. "Some people just can't let go of school prejudices. She was a Slytherin, after all."

"Hmmm. I'm not convinced."

Neville wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It could be a guilt-by-association thing, for the perpetrator. You know? Remember, Pansy didn't take part in the last battle. Some people might see that as guilt, if their mind were kind of warped."

Hermione blinked, and Severus said, _Well, Longbottom, it appears I have underestimated you._

_How's that foot taste, Severus?_

_Don't push it. I'll leave again._

"Maybe a coward is just as guilty as the committer of a crime," Ernie said.

_There. It's him, Hermione._

Hermione tried her best to seem uncomfortable with the topic of conversation in front of Neville and Hannah. Her fellow former Gryffindor took notice and changed the subject.

"So, how've Harry and Ron been, Hermione? You know I don't get to see them much out here at Hogwarts."

An hour later, Hermione was able to rise and excuse herself. Ernie did so as well, and she felt her stomach drop out with nerves.

_I have to follow him,_ she thought at Severus, whose presence she still hovered in her mind, though rather boredly at this point.

_You will not,_ he hissed. _It's too dangerous. Call for reinforcement._

_The element of surprise will be lost,_ she retorted, echoing his words from the previous day. _He definitely suspects something. We have to go now, before he makes another move. I can't let him kill again, Severus. I would never forgive myself._

She moved toward the fireplace, saying her farewells to Neville and Hannah. Ernie trailed along after her.

_Go back to your flat, then,_ he said quickly. _I'll stay behind and listen to the Floo address._

_Be careful._

_I've already died once, Hermione. You're the one with a life to lose._

She didn't know what to say to that, so she Flooed to her flat and waited anxiously. After two minutes of pacing back and forth, Severus appeared in visual form for the first time in a day, and her knees almost gave out with relief.

"You're back," she said, her breath coming out in a rush.

He tipped his head. "That I am. I have his address."

"Well, what is it? We have to go, now!"

"No." He stood over her, using his height to gain some footing on her. "Call Potter. You're not going alone."

"Is that concern I sense, Snape?" she shot back.

"You will not win this fight, Granger. Call Potter."

"Fine," she huffed, knowing he was right. She pulled out the Galleon tied around her neck and tapped it, sending a message to both Harry and Ron. "Now give me the address."

"You will wait until reinforcements arrive."

"Severus!" she shouted. "You have to tell me, now, before he gets away or hurts someone else!"

His features twisted with anger, but he told her anyway. "Number 16, Newt's Eye Circle, Hogsmeade. I'm coming with you."

"Of course you are," she said. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione chose to Apparate instead of Flooing, as she thought that would give them a better jump on Ernie. She had not received a response from Harry or Ron, but as an extra precaution, she sent Ernie's address through the Galleon, hoping they would be able to locate her in the event of trouble.

She Apparated to Hogsmeade, chewing her lip as she attempted to find the right street. Snape whispered in her mind, a constant presence as they traveled along. His touch sent warmth through her on the chilly Autumn day, and she was thankful that she had him there. She knew she wouldn't be there without him.

Newt's Eye Circle was a sidestreet for middling income individuals. She finally found it midway through town. Before rounding a corner and turning onto it, however, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Confirming that, a tap of her wand atop her head took care of her Disillusionment. She was no only a faint shimmer in the air, visible to the sharpest eye.

She hoped Ernie wasn't paying too much attention, but she knew she couldn't bank on that.

_Proceed with caution. I will be of no help to you here if something goes wrong._

Snape didn't have enough power to affect Ernie in any significant way, besides tossing blunt objects at him. Even then, to anyone with half a brain and a wand, that wouldn't be too much of an obstacle.

Arriving at number 6, she noted that the curtains were drawn, and the house looked empty. He might have fled already. Oh, well. That would give her an opportunity to search his house.

Snape, swimming around in her stream-of-consciousness, gave what sounded much like a snort. _You're not the most upstanding of detectives._

"I don't know what you mean," she murmured as she quietly and efficiently scaled Ernie's garden fence.

_Summoning a shade to assist you in your case, assaulting a Potions Master and wiping his memories, and now breaking and entering. Tsk, tsk. When will you learn to abide by the law, Detective Granger?_

"I'll learn to abide by the law when people aren't being murdered left and right."

Snape stopped talking to her, which she took as her cue to remain silent for now. She cast an identification charm around Ernie's house, and, sure enough, a number of very powerful wards pulsed in response. Her version of the spell, self-crafted, had been designed not to actually trigger wards when detecting them, a problem with most spells of that nature.

_That's a handy bit of spell-work. I don't know why you aren't in research and development already._

_You saying you doubt my abilities as an investigator?_

_I'm saying your talents would be put to much better use in pursuing progress for the wizarding world. Your mind goes to waste in this field._

Hermione filed away that compliment to mull over later. It wasn't everyday Severus Snape indicated he approved of you in some way. She had no time to be pleased, though. The third and final layer of the wards dissolved silently as she twirled her wand. With a nonverbal _Alohomora_, she was in.

She closed the door quietly behind her, leaving it unlocked in case Harry or Ron chose to enter that way.

Hermione was just about to head upstairs when the bookshelf in the living room caught her eye, and she stopped.

_What are you – _

_Look._ Her response stopped Severus in his tracks, and she ran her fingers carefully over the third shelf, the one at chest level. One book seemed to be slightly askew, a battered, much-loved copy of _Crime and Punishment_. On a hunch, she yanked it, and the entire bookshelf slid aside with a grinding noise.

_If he didn't know we were here, he does now,_ Snape said. _Prepare yourself._

_What is it with sneaky people and bookshelves, anyway?_

_It's a legitimate hiding place._ He sounded slightly affronted.

_Ah. So what you're saying is, you had one of those._

He didn't respond. She would have laughed at any other time, but the stairs leading into the darkness below made her stomach clench.

Disillusiond as she was, Hermione hoped that it would allow her to get the jump on Ernie. There was virtually no way he hadn't heard the bookshelf move aside, so she decided to proceed at a slow pace. She descended into the dark stairwell, her footsteps almost inaudible, she was moving so carefully.

Running her hand along the concrete walls beside her alerted her to when the stairwell terminated and she had entered a room. It was completely dark.

The shadows spat a green jet of light in her direction, and she tucked and rolled to escape it, banging her knees hard on the stone floor as Severus shouted instructions in her mind.

_Lumos, woman! Go, there's no point in allowing him the cover of darkness! He knows we're here!_

She cast a special lighting charm – not the feeble _Lumos_ she had relied upon in school. She had designed it to detect any light-emitting device within a fifteen-foot radius and activate it. Torches in sconces on the walls burst into life, illuminating the room and casting leaping, twitching shadows all around her.

"Ernie MacMillan," she called, infusing her voice with as much authority as she could muster. "Come out with your wand where I can see it."

"What good reason do you have for breaking into the privacy of my home, Hermione Granger?"

She assumed he was also Disillusioned because she couldn't see him anywhere. Normally, she might be able to detect his position by the source of his voice or the shimmer in the air, but the echoing effect in the room distorted sound, and the torches made it impossible to pick out anything abnormal in the air.

"You are under arrest under suspicion of the murders of Dolores Umbridge, Lucius Malfoy, and Pansy Parkinson via the use of the Anima Damnata potion. Come quietly, so that we may take you in for questioning."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he spat, his voice trembling a bit. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"Come now, Ernie," she coaxed, creeping to her right around a table filled with notes and scattered POtions ingredients. "If you've done nothing wrong, then there's no reason not to come with me to the Ministry to answer a few questions."

"If word gets out that I've been taken into custody associated with these murders – Granger, do you realize what that will do to my reputation? I've just been appointed to the Wizengamot, for Merlin's sake!"

_There. Two o'clock._

Sure enough, there was the faintest glimmer in the air by a shelf filled with assorted glass phials. Hermione continued to creep to her right, clearing some tables to give herself a straight shot to Ernie. If she could just hit him with a Stunner...

"Now, Ernie," she said, hoping that she could throw her voice well enough to confuse him, "no one will blame you if you're found innocent-"

"_If_?" he shrilled, voice breaking. "I tell you, I've done nothing wrong!"

_Don't let him fool you, Hermione. He's lying. On the table to your right - don't look, keep your eyes on him – there's a book with a reference to the Damnata._

Hermione, in a rapid-fire motion, cast a spell to the left of the distortion in the air, then cast a Stunner to where she thought he might feint. It failed to strike anything but the wall, leaving a smoking hole in its wake. In the small explosion, she'd lost sight of him.

_Look out!_ Snape bellowed, and she lunged. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong direction in her haste, slamming bodily into someone and sending them both tumbling to the concrete. They crashed into one of the tables, and before she could move, a heavy book tipped off and smacked her in the skull.

She blacked out, just briefly, and came to realizing that with her unconsciousness, the Disillusionment spell had ended. She was completely visible now.

A weight came down on her chest, crushing her spine into the concrete and forcefully ejecting the air from her chest. She wheezed, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. An invisible hand grabbed her roughly by the hair, and she felt someone's breath on her ear.

"It's a shame Terry assigned you to this case," Ernie said. "You're a valuable asset to the Ministry with that fabulous mind of yours. In time, perhaps you could have worked under me."

She thrashed, but he was planted firmly on her chest, and no amount of punching from her did any good. She could only hope that Harry or Ron would get there soon. That was assuming they were in reach of their Galleons when she sent the message.

She couldn't depend on them.

Gasping, she tried to speak. "They know... I'm here..."

Ernie materialized, his own Disillusionment spell terminating. His eyes burned with a mad light, and his golden curls stuck out in all directions. "It doesn't matter. I don't know how you figured out it was me. I slipped up, somehow, but it won't happen again. By the time they figure out where to go, it'll be like you were never here."

She bucked wildly, trying to throw him off. It was no use - he was a solid fellow, easily keeping her on the ground. Her head throbbed where the book had struck her, too, impeding her efforts to escape.

"Before I do, though, I'm going to tell you why. You've worked so hard to get this far, I might as well satisfy your legendary curiosity before I get rid of you."

As he spoke, he reached inside his robes and withdrew a vial filled with a potion so dark, it seemed to obliterate the light surrounding it. She recognized it from Severus's description: the Anima Damnata.

She prayed Severus was listening, so that he could tell Harry and Ron what happened when they finally arrived. She prayed that he wouldn't be sent back to the otherworld once she was gone. Someone had to bring Ernie to justice, even if she couldn't.

"Neville had it mostly right," he said matter-of-factly, staring into the potion like a starving man to a hot meal. Real fear stabbed through her gut. He'd lost it. "I've always wanted to be a part of the Wizengamot, Hermione. I believe in justice for all, and all of them had it coming. The Ministry's courts are corrupt, poisoned by greed and Galleons. If due process of the law couldn't bring the criminals of the Blood War to justice, then I knew I had to.

"I wanted to be a judge because I want to change the courts from within." He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "It wouldn't be quick enough, though. I couldn't stand the thought of those... _criminals_—" Flecks of spittle hit her face, ejected from his mouth in his vehemence—"walking free, while innocent people had died and suffered at their hands.

"So I stood up for what was right. The Dementors are gone, now, so I found the next best substitute. The Anima Damnata…surely you know what it does, Hermione?"

She could only stare at him, willing herself not to shake as he waited for her response. He smiled.

"Of course you do. It's the next best thing to the Dementor's kiss. But I did some research. You see, when Dementors die – because they do die, Detective Granger – the souls they've collected are finally released. They've lived a thousand lifetimes of torment, a purgatory, if you will, and then they're allowed to move on to the otherworld.

"The Anima Damnata's just like that, except it destroys the soul entirely. That way, they don't get a second chance."

"You're sick," she rasped, finally managing to get enough air into her lungs to speak again. "Who are you to make that decision?"

His eyes narrowed. "They had their chance to submit to justice in this life. Instead, they used their status and money to escape their true fate. I fixed it."

"And Pansy?" She was stalling, and he knew it.

He shrugged. "She chose her side in the final battle. Just because she didn't fight doesn't mean she didn't choose the Dark. So she was punished. Bulstrode escaped by way of luck. The Malfoys too." His expression soured as he admitted it. "I admit, my plan was not foolproof. Not to worry, their times will come soon. After all, everyone must get what they deserve.

"And now it's your turn."

He uncorked the bottle as she struggled anew. "You think this is justice?" she cried. "What have I done to deserve this in your fucked up brain! This makes no sense, Ernie!"

"Those who would impede true justice must be dealt with," he said, shrugged.

Hermione knew that if even a drop of that potion entered her bloodstream, she would be done for, her soul lost forever. A fate worse than death.

At that moment, Severus appeared in a blaze of fiery light, his voice echoing in the chamber.

"MR. MACMILLAN! Do not move!"

Ernie's eyes shot open with surprise, almost popping out of his face. "You... P-Professor Snape?"

Hermione took her chance, pushing past the pounding in her head and throwing Ernie from her body. He toppled from her body, and she crawled away on all fours. The potion slipped from his fingers, and the phial shattered on the stones.

"No!" he screamed. "The Damnata!" Turning his mad eyes toward Hermione, he snarled with hatred. "You bitch!"

He stood and made a move toward her, but she had reached her wand. With a quick movement, she shouted, "_FUMUS_!"

The Damnata vaporized, shrouding Ernie's horrified face in a cloud of black steam. His knees buckled, his body seizing, and he fell forward with terrified eyes, foam spilling from his mouth.

Hermione scooted away, out of reach of his grasping fingers, almost gagging as he choked and twisted. Her head whipped around, searching frantically for Severus, and her eyes lit on him just as Ernie's flailing arms connected with his shimmering form.

He locked gazes with her, reached out one hand, then disappeared. She screamed.

Hermione realized, belatedly, that she was crying, tears streaming from her eyes unchecked. She couldn't feel Severus's connection to her anymore. He was gone.

Her heart broke as she came to the understanding that, in Ernie's soul-destruction by way of Damnata, he had touched Severus's essence and taken him as well. Severus Snape had, once again, given up everything for the sake of another.

She wept, bitterly, on the cold concrete floor, so absorbed in her crippling grief that she didn't look up the first time she heard her name.

"Detective Granger."

She wept on, heedless.

"_Hermione._ "

A hand touched her sleeve. She almost screamed, but then she met the deep black, totally alive eyes of Severus Snape. Instead of screaming, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him straight on his living, breathing, very warm lips.

It wasn't a particularly good kiss, being frantic and proceeded by a hysterical crying fit, but she enjoyed it all the same. By Severus's open mouth and pink cheeks when she pulled back, he had as well.

"But how?" she breathed, her hands running all over him. It was him all right - the hooked nose, the terrible teeth, the tangle of black hair. Only the robes were different; they were definitely the clothes Ernie had been wearing.

"I'm... not sure," he finally admitted, after staring at her for a very long time. They were sitting on the floor, curled into each other, his hands in her hair. She never in a million years thought she would associate this kind of relief with Severus Snape, of all people, but he was _alive_, for Merlin's sake. She hadn't destroyed him.

"I think it had something to do with MacMillan's leaving his body," he continued. "When he made contact with me, as a shade, I felt this irresistible pull. Then this horrible pain. I woke up to you crying a few feet away."

Hermione rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. "It seems, somehow, the departure of Ernie's soul from his body allowed space for you."

"That doesn't explain," he said, nearly crossing his eyes to look at his own nose and examine his oily black hair, "why I look like, well, myself. Not Mr. MacMillan."

"This is new territory for me as well," Hermione admitted. She didn't really care what he looked like, as long as he was there. "We're going to have to run some tests."

"We're going to be in the lab very late." Wonder sparked in his eyes as he studied her. After a moment, he disentangled himself, and disappointment flooded her.

Then, he held out one elegant hand and helped haul her to her feet. He stood very close to her.

"I don't know how we're going to explain this."

Her eyes welled with tears. "Oh, Severus. I'm so sorry. You can't even have a peaceful death now. I've screwed everything up for you."

"Don't be stupid," he growled. "If I wanted a peaceful death, I'd Avada myself right now." He brushed some dust from her shoulder, and she tried not to get her hopes up. Her heart swelled when he said, "I think I might like a second shot at life, now that I've got it."

She wanted to kiss him again, and the way he was staring at her made her stomach do cartwheels.

"I just can't believe it," she said finally. "Ernie MacMillan. Who would've suspected?"

"Never underestimate an insane person, Hermione. Especially one from Hufflepuff." He looked deadly serious.

A commotion sounded upstairs, and Ron's voice squawked, "Bloody hell! There's a fucking passageway behind the bookcase!"

"Hermione!" Harry shouted frantically. "Hermione, are you here? Are you all right?"

"It's a good thing MacMillan's been taken care of," Snape sneered, "or they'd be cocking it up as we speak."

"They have terrible timing," she muttered.

"Explaining this is going to be bloody awful." Snape rubbed the bridge of his sizeable nose, already tired.

"Well, at least you've got your whole life to get your story straight," she chirped.

He pulled at one of her curls with two long fingers. "Cheeky."

When Harry and Ron stumbled out of the stairwell with a squad of Aurors behind them, Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Snape's smirk as their mouths dropped open.

Finally, Ron sighed, interrupting her laughter. "Could someone, please, tell me what the hell is going on here?"

_Fin_.


End file.
